Dawn of Night

CHAPTER 18 THE CARAVAN

The duergar on point whistled for a halt and the caravan creaked to a stop. Two of the gray dwarves who had been on point were jogging back to the main body of the caravan, their armor and weapons clanking. Dolgan, Azriim (who had just returned from the rear), and the duergar leader stepped forward to meet them.

"A large open cavern is just ahead," one of the two dwarves said in Undercommon. Scars crisscrossed the gnarled duergar's bald head, and dirt caked his beard. "It's flat as an orog's head and riddled with side tunnels. Ideal for an ambush."

The duergar leader, his dusky skin pockmarked with the scars of a past disease, turned to Azriim and said, "I know that cavern. It'll take the wagon a hundred count to cross it, and that's pushing the lizard. We should scout it out first."

The duergar leader looked to Dolgan, who the slaadi had represented to them as the client paying their wages. "That cavern's the equivalent of an exposed valley on the surface. Very vulnerable to attack from the heights, or in this case, from all sides. We should be cautious."

Dolgan nodded, but unwilling to respond without Azriim's prompting, he projected to his broodmate, What do I answer?

Instead of responding to Dolgan directly, Azriim sniffed, pulled his beard, and shook his axe.

"Bah! If you're concerned, the mages can prepare wards for as many of the men as possible." Azriim-the-duergar looked to Dolgan and added, "We cross quickly, with axes ready."

Make a show of considering it, Azriim projected, then agree. Have the mages cast protective wards on the men. It will make the combat last longer anyway.

Dolgan did exactly as he was told, and when the duergar mages had cast a variety of protective wards on many of their guardsmen, the caravan again moved out. They were heading directly into the cavern, where Ahmaergo's ambush awaited.

Here we come, Dolgan projected to Serrin.

* * * * *

When the caravan had crossed half the cavern the ambush was sprung.

Enjoy, Serrin projected to his broodmates.

From four of the side tunnels that opened onto the main cavern, crossbow bolts whizzed. Most skittered harmlessly on the stone floor or thumped off of sturdy duergar armor, but a few found homes in flesh. One sank into Dolgan's shoulder. He grunted and jerked it free, his flesh regenerating the damage almost immediately. Two bolts sank into the pack lizard, causing the creature to rear up and roar in pain. Its sudden movement caused the wagon to lurch forward.

"Ambush!" Dolgan shouted, barely able to contain a grin, partially because of the pain he felt in his shoulder, and partially because Azriim's plan was working well.

He answered the crossbow fire with a trio of magical bolts fired from his wand into the mouth of a side tunnel, where he saw shadowy figures cowering.

True to Kexen's representation that they were veterans, the duergar guardsmen reacted quickly. The mages ducked behind the lurching wagon and began to mouth the words to still more powerful protective wards. The warriors jumped behind the wagon or fell prone, plying their own crossbows.

Shouts and bestial roars erupted from the side tunnels. Huge, lumbering figures formed out of the darkness and loped forward, their great strides eating up the distance.

"Trolls," shouted the duergar in Undercommon, and those nearest the onrushing trolls leaped to their feet.

Calling upon the magical attributes native to their race, several of the duergar grew to twice their normal size, nearly matching the onrushing trolls in stature. Several others vanished from sight, masked by invisibility spells.

Dolgan watched with satisfaction as the combat began to unfold. A force of a score or more human warriors poured from the tunnels, following the charging trolls.

Beams of green energy and swarms of magical darts arced over the onrushing humans and trolls to slam into the duergar force, all fired by Xanathar mages emerging from the mouths of the side tunnels.

"Use your wands!" Dolgan shouted at the duergar mages. "These are Xanathar troops!"

The duergar mages, some of them protected by visible fields of magical force, leveled the wands Azriim had provided to them, and fired lightning bolts into the charging forces. Men screamed, stumbled, and fell. Their comrades leaped over them, still charging.

Duergar warriors met the charge, returning to visibility at the instant their hammers crushed the heads of some of the Xanathar's troops. A fierce melee began halfway between the side tunnels and the caravan. Hammers and axes rose and fell, and swords and shields cut and bashed. Men and dwarves alike screamed in rage and pain.

A globe of brilliant light flared to life, illuminating the cavern, limning the violence. The light-sensitive duergar recoiled and shielded their eyes, temporarily blinded. Trolls and human warriors took the opportunity to press the attack against the gray dwarves, forcing them back with a fierce onslaught. Thinking quickly, one of the duergar mages dispelled the light's sustaining magic, and the dim luminescence of the Underdark again took hold.

Near Dolgan, Azriim plied his own wands, alternately firing lightning and a transmogrifying beam at anything that moved: duergar, human, or troll. Dolgan did likewise. They didn't care which side won the fight, only that it continued for a time and involved powerful magic.

The combat quickly turned into a series of pitched battles scattered all across the cavern floor, with mages and archers supporting from a distance. Spells and counterspells flew. Lightning bolts sizzled from the wands of the duergar mages, leaving a spray of stone splinters, burned flesh, and screams in their wake. Xanathar mages answered, and fireballs blossomed in spherical infernos all over the cavern. Some exploded near the cart, roasting the pack lizard, two duergar, and setting the cart aflame. Giant spiders summoned by the duergar mages prowled the battlefield, pouncing on the wounded and dying.

Wedges of multi-colored magical force ripped through the air, knocking warriors from their feet. Beams of green and red energy laced across the cavern. Globes of darkness formed and were dispelled. Walls of ice and fire appeared from nowhere to burn and freeze. Waves of magic turned stone to mud, set flesh melting and flowing like water.

Throughout, roaring trolls and shambling spiders rampaged across the battlefield, claws and fangs dripping blood and shreds of flesh. Duergar axes and hammers rose and fell as the doughty dwarves fought in isolated groups of two and three. Sword and shield clashed in answer. Archers patrolled the perimeter of the melee, picking targets. Their crossbows twanged again and again. Quarrels sprouted from the flesh of combatants with the suddenness of lightning strikes. Ahmaergo himself stomped through the battlefield, wielding his huge axe and bellowing challenges in the name of the Xanathar.

This ought to serve to draw the Skulls, Dolgan projected to Azriim.

Even as he completed the thought, a series of magical bolts seared into his flesh. He grinned, reveling in the exquisiteness of the pain.

And Cale and his companions as well, Azriim answered, discharging a lightning bolt into a troll. It's nearly time to take our leave. Be ready Serrin. You know the location.

* * * * *

From ahead, Cale heard the shouts of men and the clash of metal.

"A battle?" Magadon said.

"A big one, to judge from the sound," Jak said.

All four of the comrades readied blades, holy symbols, and bows.

"We move quickly and quietly," Cale said. "No one gets involved except on my say-so." He looked pointedly at Riven as he said that last. The assassin made no response and Cale decided to take the silence as agreement. "The slaadi want us caught up in this, and that's reason enough to stay out," Cale continued. "Mark the slaadi as quickly as you can. Mags, I'm going to need you to show me what Azriim sees, so stand ready."

The guide nodded.

"Let's move," Cale said.

Hurrying through the darkness, the four approached the scene of battle. Cale intensified the darkness around them slightly as they drew closer. From the tunnel ahead came the flash of fireballs and lightning. Metal rang on metal. Sounds echoed down the corridor: men shouting, beasts roaring, and stone cracking. It sounded as though the ceiling was falling down.

Stay out of it, Cale reminded them again, and all of them nodded, even Riven. Crouching low and hugging the wall, they hurried forward.

Before them opened a wide, open cavern. All around it, a battle roiled. Trolls, men, and duergar fought in pockets, fierce little battles of horrible violence. Hammers, swords, shouts, curses, and roars rose toward the ceiling. Corpses lay scattered across the cavern like so much driftwood.

The caravan's wagon lay on its side, burning. The pack lizard lay on its side too, still yoked to the wagon and hissing in pain, crossbow bolts protruding from its charred flesh. Magical energies arced across the cavern from the side tunnels, the casters hidden by darkness and distance. Duergar mages answered with shots from their wands or spells of their own. The amount of magic flying in the cavern caused the hairs on Cale's arms to stand. Weaveshear fairly hummed in his grasp, bleeding shadows.

"Follow me," Cale said.

He darted off to the side of the cavern a good distance away from the combat. There, Cale saw a protruding ledge of rock sticking out of the stone about eight paces up on the wall. It would offer a good view of the battle, and some small cover from the missile fire and spells.

"There," he said, pointing.

The others nodded and they raced to the wall and began to climb. Behind them, a troll roared in pain. A ricocheting lightning bolt ripped into the wall near them, sending splinters of stone spraying. They reached the ledge, breathing hard, and crouched low.

"Trickster's toes," Jak said. "This is chaos."

"Find the slaadi," Cale said, scouring the battlefield for any telltale sign of their quarry.

He saw only indistinguishable duergar, mercenaries, and trolls.

"I can't see well enough to find anything," Riven growled.

"There!" Jak said.

Cale followed the halfling's pointing finger and saw a large fat human and a duergar slipping toward the far side of the cavern.

Could be them, Magadon projected. I can confirm.

Cale replied, Do it.

Motes of light flared around the guide's head and his eyes rolled back in their sockets. For a moment, Magadon said nothing and Cale, Jak, and Riven waited in anticipation. Below them, the battle raged, reaching still greater heights of violence.

"It is Azriim," Magadon said.

"Stay with him," Cale said. "When they leave, we follow."

"Leave?" asked Jak.

Cale nodded. He thought he understood the slaadi's play.

"The slaadi engineered this entire battle," he said. "And now that it's going full on, they're backing out of it. It's a distraction."

"Who are they trying to distract?" Riven asked. "Us?"

Cale shrugged, but before he could form a reply, an orange luminescence formed at the mouth of the main tunnel that led back toward Skullport. It grew brighter and brighter, as if someone or something carrying a giant torch were moving closer to the cavern.

"What is that?" Jak asked.

"Find a hole," Riven said, "and stay low. This is bad."

Cale and Jak shared a look. Weaveshear fairly shook in Cale's hand. The shadows around the blade whirled as if in excitement.

The luminescence grew brighter still and the combatants in the chamber seemed to notice it for the first time. Duergar, troll, and human backed away from each other.

Weapons were lowered, and gazes turned toward the tunnel mouth.

Cale pulled down Magadon, who was still connected to Azriim, and willed the darkness around them to deepen.

A murmur of curiosity ran through the chamber, and quickly turned to one of concern, then fear. The combatants saw what was coming. Cale and his companions, off to the side of the tunnel mouth, could not yet see the source of the light.

Stay with Azriim, Cale projected to Magadon. No matter what occurs.

"Goddess," Magadon oathed.

Through Azriim's eyes, he too saw what was coming.

A voice louder than a thunderclap and deeper than the Moonsea shook stalactites from the ceiling as it pronounced, "Cease!"

Other than the moans of the wounded and dying, an eerie silence reigned.

"The Skulls," Riven said softly, as six glowing human skulls whizzed in through the tunnel and rapidly circled the battlefield.

All eyes followed Skullport's enigmatic guardians. Duergar, man, and troll visibly cowered under the inscrutable gaze of the Skulls. Finished with their flyover, the Skulls positioned themselves around the combatants, fencing most of them in. A nervous rustle ran through the chamber. Some of the casters and crossbowmen outside of the ring of Skulls began to back away down the side tunnels.

Cale and his companions were outside the circle. Cale sensed the power in the room, as did Weaveshear, to judge from its hungry vibrations. With six of the Skulls present in the chamber, and presuming that five or six of them were still lurking about in Skullport, as Cale thought typical, most all of the guardians were accounted for.

It was then that it hit him.

"Dark and empty," he whispered.

Azriim and the slaadi had arranged the battle for one purpose: to draw the Skulls away from the city, or away from something else. But what?

Again the booming voice: "Warfare in a main thoroughfare of the city of Skullport jeopardizes trade and is in direct contravention to our standing edict! Also, rat scales offer unique numerary opportunities! Most foul! Most foul, indeed!"

The Skull then went on for several more heartbeats in a language that Cale could not understand, though the tone was unmistakably hostile.

The combatants shared confused looks, but none dared move.

The Skull reverted back to Common, saying, "For all of the foregoing reasons, Ssarmn and the Xanathar shall be individually disciplined and each of you shall be exterminated."

It seemed to take a moment for the import of the pronouncement to settle in. When it did, the duergar and humans tentatively raised their weapons. The trolls snarled defiance.

And the Skulls began to kill.

As one, the six Skulls unleashed their awesome magical power. Arcane energies slammed indiscriminately into the encircled forces-fire, ice, lightning, and a hail of stones. Waves of warping magical force ran amok among the duergar. Bolts of amber energy pierced shield, armor, and finally flesh. Men screamed, twisted into shapeless forms, burned, froze, and died.

The mages and crossbowmen poured out of the side tunnels in a panic, like rats fleeing a sinking ship. Two Skulls pursued them. Somehow the city's guardians had ambushed the would-be ambushers. Cale finally counted a total of eight Skulls in the chamber.

In the smoke and flashing lights, Cale could no longer see Azriim and the other slaad.

"Mags?" Cale asked.

Riven grabbed Cale's cloak and said, "We need to get out of here, Cale. Now! No one is going to leave here alive."

Cale heard the urgency in Riven's voice but shook him off.

He looked at Magadon and asked, "Mags?"

"I've got him still," replied the guide. "He's taking out his teleportation rod."

Cale said, "Wherever they go, get a look and give it to me. I'm taking us after them."

Magadon nodded.

"We're leaving, Riven," said Cale. "Well enough?"

The assassin backed off and gave a soft nod, his single eye wide and staring at the Skulls.

In the cavern below, the combatants appeared to have put aside their differences and fought together to survive. Warhammers flew toward the Skulls, crossbow bolts, beams of energy, lightning bolts, and fireballs. The impact of weapons and spells jolted Skullport's guardians, but seemed to do little actual damage, until one of the Skulls fluttered in the air like a wounded bird and sank to the cavern floor. A duergar smashed it with his hammer. A cheer went up.

The duergar standing over the slain Skull took a yellow beam in his chest, screamed, and turned inside out, spraying gore.

The remaining Skulls, unperturbed by their fallen brother, floated across the cavern, unleashing power and death wherever they moved. Duergar, trolls, and humans formed groups and rushed the Skulls. Duergar and Xanathar mages fired everything they had at the Skulls-wand and spell. Huge stalactites broke from the ceiling and crashed on the cavern's floor. One of them crushed a second Skull and buried a group of duergar.

"That's it!" Magadon said. "They've moved. All three of them. They're in a smooth walled tunnel, still in the Underdark but not in Skullport. Something is wrong with one of them." The guide held out a hand. "Here. I can show it to you."

Cale reached out and clasped Magadon's arm.

"Cover!" Riven shouted.

Before Cale could respond, an explosion of fire rocked the ledge. An inferno of heat and light engulfed the entire face of the wall and he lost his grip on Magadon. Vaguely, he heard Jak, Riven, and the guide scream, then he heard the dull thud of flesh slamming into rock. The force from the blast flattened Cale against the ledge, stealing his breath. Only mildly stunned, he looked up a moment later to find his clothes smoking but his flesh unharmed. Weaveshear, sheathed in shadows, vibrated in his hand.

Magadon and Jak lay near him, off to the side, their flesh charred, their clothes aflame. But both of them were blinking, both of them were conscious. They were looking past Cale, wide-eyed. Jak tried to say something but no sound emerged. Cale turned his head to find himself face to face with the glowing visage of a Skull.

* * * * *

Azriim materialized in the tunnel to the sound of screams-Dolgan's screams. The big slaad's hind claw had materialized up to the ankle in the stone of the cavern's floor. It looked as if stone jaws had clamped shut on his broodmate's foot.

Azriim pocketed his teleportation rod and shook his head in irritation-not because he was concerned with Dolgan's pain, but because time was of the essence and Dolgan's plight would slow them down. He had known an errant teleport to be a possibility of using the rods in the Underdark, but had decided to run the risk. In truth, he'd had no choice. He needed to get to the provenience while the Skulls were distracted with the battle in the north tunnels. He did not have a lot of time.

Still wailing, Dolgan pulled at his extremity as though he might jerk it from the stone. His claws dug bloody grooves in the flesh of his exposed calf, but the stone did not release its grip.

Azriim knew the effort to be futile. The hind claw could not be pulled free. The substance of his broodmate's foot had melded with the stone. There was only one way to get him loose.

"Silence, fool," Azriim commanded, concerned that his broodmate's wails might be heard by any remaining Skulls.

When Dolgan showed no sign of having understood, Azriim willed a globe of silence to surround them, and all sound died.

Serrin, standing beside Dolgan and eyeing the big slaad's extremity with emotionless gray eyes, projected, Transform yourself into a smaller shape.

Dolgan looked up sharply and grinned through his pain. Drool ran from the corners of his mouth. He closed his eyes for a moment and began to change, his large human form shrinking down into that of a gnome.

As Azriim had known, the transformation did not free his foot.

It did not work, Dolgan said through clenched teeth.

Azriim could not tell if the big slaad was smiling with pleasure or grimacing with pain.

We can see that, Serrin answered.

Dolgan's eyes watered with the agony.

It is painful, he said.

Azriim sighed.

Of course it is, he replied. They had to move, so to Serrin he projected, Chop it off

Dolgan's eyes went wide.

What? Do not!

Serrin did not show surprise, though his eyes narrowed. He hefted his falchion.

It is the only way, Azriim said to Dolgan. Be grateful that Serrin carries a blade, else you would have to chew your way through your own leg.

But-

Otherwise, Azriim continued, we will have to leave you behind to starve.

Dolgan stared at Azriim for a moment before his expression dropped. The big slaad looked to Serrin, then the falchion, and Azriim saw acceptance in his eyes.

Do it, then, Dolgan projected.

Serrin didn't hesitate. He raised his blade high. Dolgan, still in gnome form, held up a small, gnarled hand.

Don't do it all in one swing, he projected, warming to events. And make certain it's painful.

* * * * *

Cale climbed to his feet, Weaveshear in hand.

The Skull pronounced something in a tongue that Cale did not understand, though the ominous tone was clear.

Cale said, "I don't understand" and began to back off toward Jak and Magadon.

The Skull moved with him and spoke sharply in the same tongue. Before Cale could utter another reply, the Skull's eyes flared and a green ray fired from the sockets. Cale, trying but failing to sidestep the beam, instinctively brandished Weaveshear before him.

To his shock, the shadows around the sword swallowed the beam. The blade grew hot in his hand and began to shake. He felt the power contained within it, sensed its desire to be released. With nothing else for it, he pointed Weaveshear's tip at the Skull.

The green beam, interspersed with hair-fine threads of shadowstuff, blazed forth. It hit the surprised Skull between its eyes, and for a moment the creature shook violently, as if it was about to blow apart.

But it did not, and instead the Skull cocked itself curiously to the side and eyed the blade. It spoke a long string of phrases, each in a different language. Cale understood almost nothing, catching only one word that he knew: coluk, a Turmish verb meaning, "to absorb."

Behind the Skull, the battle raged on. Fire and lightning lit the cavern. The stone was awash in magical energy and blood. The Skull before Cale uttered a piercing, keening wail. A second Skull engaged in the battle turned sharply at the sound. It turned from the battle and veered toward the ledge.

Cale's heart hammered in his chest. He could not manage two Skulls.

Still holding Weaveshear between himself and the Skull, he moved nearer to Jak and Magadon, knelt, and grabbed the halfling by the cloak.

"Get up, Jak," he hissed. "Mags . .. up. Now."

With Cale's help, his two stunned companions climbed to their feet, still smoking and dazed from the fireball. The second Skull was nearly to the ledge. The first kept its impassive gaze fixed squarely on Cale.

"Riven!" Cale called, not seeing the assassin.

"Here," Riven's voice called from behind them and to their right.

Cale glanced over his shoulder to see Riven crouched against the wall, his one eye fixed on the Skull. He held throwing daggers in each hand-paltry weapons against so formidable a foe. His clothes were blackened, but he looked generally unharmed by the fireball.

"We're leaving," Cale said, speaking as much to the Skull as to his comrades. "We're leaving," he said again, but in Turmish, hoping the Skull would understand.

The Skull softly muttered something in reply. The second Skull was nearly there.

Pulling Magadon and Jak along, Cale backed toward Riven.

Mags, he projected, show me where the slaadi went.

The Skull began to mouth arcane words. The second Skull fell in beside it and joined its incantation. Cale feared that Weaveshear would not be able to absorb whatever was coming next.

Put your hand on me, Riven! Cale projected. Mags, now!

Riven grabbed a fistful of Cale's cloak as a mental image formed in Cale's brain: a smooth walled cavern with a formation of stalagmites on the right and a shallow pool. While Cale knew that teleporting in the Underdark presented danger, he had no choice. He drew the shadows around him as quickly as he could and willed them to move to the cavern-willed them to move that instant.

The Skulls' dead eyes stared holes into Cale. Their power gathered, and Cale summoned power of his own.

With alarming suddenness, a wave of incredible magical force exploded outward from the Skulls.

Cale closed his eyes against the impact. He felt a flutter in his gut, and everything went black.